


A Witch's Prayer

by byrhthelm



Category: JAG
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-11 00:22:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3308708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/byrhthelm/pseuds/byrhthelm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of 'Adrift' it seems that nobody is completely evil.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Witch's Prayer

A J Chegwidden needed a break. Despite his brusque, gruff, cool headed no-nonsense, emotionless manner, the tough, battle-hardened former Seal just couldn’t bear to be in that room for another minute. Coming on top of the almost paralysing fear that had permeated one of the longest night of his life, to see his best junior officer and senior attorney lying in that bed, an oxygen mask on his face and with tubes and wires sprouting like weeds from his arms and body was almost too much. Chegwidden had once been likened to a force of nature and it wasn’t in his nature to stand idly by but in this case he was completely unequipped to do anything, and if there was one thing that he hated and that frustrated him to his limits was the necessity of standing by helpless while he waited for others to complete a task of which he was incapable.  
Not that he allowed any of his thoughts and feelings show on his face; no, the US Navy’s JAG had a reputation and a position to maintain and he certainly wasn’t about to let any hint of weakness show in front of the inner circle of his officers. They were all here of course, along with Miss Peterson, Rabb’s… well… girlfriend, he supposed, although what the hell the man had been thinking when he became involved with her…  
He shrugged and glanced around the room, yes, MacKenzie, with her Australian fiancé, Mic Brumby… and that was another mystery… although MacKenzie was paying more attention to the still, grey-faced figure in the bed and her ‘little sister’ Chloe than she was to the hovering former Lieutenant Commander RAN. Bud and Harriet Roberts were here, of course. Harriet sometimes irritated him with her bouncing, boundless enthusiasm for just about everything, but he still held a soft spot for her and Mister Roberts after they had so very nearly lost their daughter. Yes, everyone was present and accounted for… wait… what the hell? Where was everyone’s favourite Lieutenant? Singer had been here, he had seen her earlier. It had surprised the hell out of him when MacKenzie had included her in the wedding party, but she had been at the rehearsal and of course at the dinner when the news of Rabb’s emergency broke, and naturally she had tagged along in her usual inimitable fashion while they had returned to JAG HQ and followed the progress of the SAR operation, and then once Rabb had been plucked from the ocean, and flown into Bethesda, she had followed along and had stood by Rabb’s bedside for a while, but for once he had noted, she had stayed silent, no sugary, insincere platitudes dripping from her lips no pursed-mouth sidelong glances either. No, this time she had seemed almost as pale as Rabb and her eyes seemed locked on him in some sort of weird fascination. Was she really that much of a vulture? He asked himself, but then gave an impatient shake of his head. No, she couldn’t be.  
He sighed, he would have to speak to the wayward Lieutenant again. Attendance at a sick or injured colleague’s bedside may not be mandatory, but if you did attend then you didn’t just slip away without a word to anyone. It may not be an indictable offence of Conduct Unbecoming, but it was certainly un-officerlike behaviour.  
He smiled grimly to himself. He had always thought of Rabb as his problem child… What was it MacKenzie had once said, oh yes, “Rabb was the son the Admiral never wanted” unkind and barbed, as most her comments to and about her partner were becoming, but it did have an element of black humour, and sad to say an element of the truth. But Rabb’s position was fast being usurped by Lieutenant Loren Singer. The hell of it was, she was a fine lawyer and had the potential to become a hell of a good lawyer, at least as good as Rabb. Well, she could be if she weren’t so single-mindedly and ruthlessly pursuing her ambition to become the first female JAG, and could be brought to realise that the other attorneys in the office weren’t necessarily enemies and obstacles in her way, bit could even be her friends and possible allies in her quest.  
He shook his head. Once again he had let his thoughts drift off of the subject, he still needed to take a break, just five minutes or so to get his thoughts in order, get his feelings under control, then he would be able to provide the strength and guidance to his subordinates that was part of the responsibility he bore as their CO.  
He cleared his throat, drawing all eyes to himself, “I’m just going to have a word with the doctors, see if there’s any change in their prognosis,” he announced and then with a nod at the assemblage he turned and walked out of the room.  
He did stop one of the doctors he recognised from earlier, “Any news on Commander Rabb?” he demanded.  
The doctor, a Surgeon Lieutenant Commander, tired and worn out from a long, difficult shift – Rabb hadn’t been his only patient, he’d also been attending a dozen Marines, some of them seriously injured when their bus had crashed into an eighteen-wheeler - was about to make a sharp retort when he remembered that the balding man accosting him not only wore the shoulder boards of a Rear Admiral, but was also the Navy’s JAG. He shook his head and answered tiredly, “There’s no apparent change to the telemetry, sir. Commander Rabb’s body core temperature is back within a degree of normal. But until he wakes up, there’s no way to tell if there is any unseen damage. We don’t think there is, his lung capacity is restricted, and will be for some time, but he’s not bleeding into his lungs and that’s a good sign. As for anything else… well… until he’s recovered enough to be moved to radiology for an MRI and CAT scan we just can’t tell.”  
“Should he still be unconscious at this stage?” the Admiral demanded.  
The doctor sighed, “Truthfully? No, he shouldn’t. Despite his experiences and his injuries, I think we should have seen some signs of returning consciousness by now… but…”  
“Can’t you get him for a scan while he’s unconscious? He might be bleeding internally, even if not into his lungs?” The Admiral asked.  
The doctor shook his tired head, “No, Admiral, there’s no indication of internal bleeding. His BP’s too steady for that. It’s a little low, but if he was bleeding internally, then it would be crashing through the floor. No, we can only pray that he wakes up soon. The longer he stays unconscious the greater chance there is of him slipping into a coma, and if that happens…” he shrugged helplessly.  
A tidal wave of rage washed over Chegwidden and for a moment he saw the world through a red haze and it was only by exerting his will that he prevented himself from verbally flaying the unfortunate medico. Instead he gritted his teeth and said, “Thank you, doctor. Dismissed.”  
Chegwidden watched the lab-coated man walk down the hallway and mentally turned over his words. At length he gave a snort of bitter laughter and muttered, “Well, it couldn’t hurt!”  
Five minutes later, having followed the wall-mounted signs, he paused in front of the wooden door with a simple wooden cross on it. He wasn’t a particularly religious man, he had seen far too much evil in the world to be totally convinced by the Christian message, but as the doctor had said, now they could only pray that Rabb woke up before he slipped over the edge. He took a deep breath and opened the door stepped into the quiet calm of the chapel. And stopped, stock-still in amazement. At the far end of the chapel, in the front pew, a familiar blonde figure knelt, her head bowed and her hands clasped in prayer.  
Chegwidden paced silently down the aisle and slid into a pew one row behind Loren Singer and on the opposite side of the aisle. He wouldn’t interrupt her prayers, and he too felt that now he had come here, a prayer from him wouldn’t come amiss. He slid forward off the pew onto the cushioned timber hassock and clasped his hands.  
He stayed like that in silent prayer, asking simply that Harmon Rabb be restored to consciousness, nothing more than that, believing that if God in his mercy allowed that, then Rabb would eventually make a full recovery.  
His prayer finished, he felt an odd sense of peace and sat back on his pew, his movement alerting Loren to the presence of another person in the chapel. She hurriedly finished her own prayer, resenting that someone else had entered the chapel and disrupted the first moments of peace and quiet she had experienced since the Admiral had made his dreadful announcement at the rehearsal dinner.  
Gathering her purse and cover, she stood and turned to leave and as she did so, she clapped her eyes on the intruder. Sheer shock made her freeze and gasp, “Admiral!”  
Chegwidden stood and faced her, “Lieutenant.” He gravely returned what he chose to interpret as her greeting, while his dark eyes took in her pale complexion and surely not… but yes… those were tear tracks on her face. Taken once more by surprise he cleared his throat, “I didn’t expect to find you here, Lieutenant?”  
‘And I didn’t expect to find you here either!’ she thought hotly, but instead broke protocol by giving a shrug, “It seemed that the doctors had done all they could, sir, and Commander Rabb wasn’t showing any signs of improvement. So…” she let her voice trail off and made a vague hand gesture that took in the chapel, the communion table, the crucified Christ and even him.  
“So you figured that it couldn’t hurt?” he asked, his tone, just for once in speaking with her, soft, even gentle.  
“And it might even help, sir.” She acknowledged.  
Chegwidden heaved a sigh, “It might at that,” he conceded, “Which is pretty much the same reason I had in coming here. But I need to get back to Rabb’s room now.” He paused for a second or two before he added, “Walk with me, Lieutenant?”  
And for once it wasn’t an order, Loren realised, but an invitation. A fleeting smile passed across her face, “Of course, sir, but if you don’t mind, I need to stop off at the heads on the way, just to make myself look presentable,” she added hurriedly.  
“Of course,” Chegwidden agreed in his turn.  
It took Loren no more than five minutes to make the necessary running repairs, so it was about fifteen minutes later that the oddly assorted pair returned to ICU to find the rest of the JAG party nervously and excitedly waiting in the hallway while a coterie of doctors and nurses hung over Rabb’s bed.  
“What’s going on?” the Admiral demanded.  
Harriet Sims turned wet, sparkling eyes towards him, “Oh sir! About ten minutes ago the Commander started to wake up, and then he opened his eyes and he smiled at us, sir!”  
Chegwidden felt a lump in his throat and out of the corner of his eye saw Loren Singer turn away momentarily, her whispered “Oh, thank you, God,” only just loud enough to reach his ears.


End file.
